The trap
by planet p
Summary: AU; totally weird. That’s all I can think to say about this.


**The trap** by planet p

**Disclaimer** I don't own _the Pretender_ or any of its characters.

* * *

They're trapped, their last exit possibility made a non-possibility by the gun pointed steadily at Jarod's chest. Ethan figured he could go, make a run for it, but he wasn't about to leave Jarod, so he just glared at Lyle. Whatever happened next, and from there on in, was because of him. The only certain thing was that Jarod would never work for the Center again, and he would never co-operate with his parents' killers, so maybe they'd both just have to die.

Lyle frowned and lowered his gun, then made a face. "Wait!"

"Never stopped!" Jarod hissed, but Lyle wasn't listening; even he could see that.

Lyle turned about, and made a half step forward. He paused in hesitation, his expression confused. "I can't-" He spun around swiftly. "We go this way!" he told them, before he turned away and headed away from them. At the end of the corridor, he turned back with a frown. "We haven't much time, Kyle."

Jarod made a face, then nodded to Ethan to follow Lyle. At the corner, he noticed the people in suits, and began to count them off in his head.

"We'll go right by them," Lyle decided. "Theoretically, they'll not even notice us; they'll be looking for someone who's fleeing, panicked. We stay calm."

"Who are they looking for?" Ethan asked quietly.

Lyle ignored him, and headed out into the crowd. Jarod followed him without hesitation, and Ethan quickly took Jarod's lead.

Ethan wanted to ask what they'd do if Miss Parker, or someone else from the Center saw them, but he figured he'd find out when it happened.

"Bobby, stop!"

Close by to a technology shop, Jarod froze, his gaze darting first to Ethan, then to Lyle.

Lyle turned around, smiling. "Missing your gun already?" he asked the older man.

"We have the building surrounded, Bobby. There's no escape this time."

"'This time'? I don't believe I escaped the last time. Terrible business, though, that incident with the Rankin girl, 'ey?"

"She will be recovered, with your help."

Lyle laughed. "She's terribly amusing, I must say," he agreed. "Poor daddy!"

The older man moved toward him, and Lyle drew his gun swiftly.

"Feeling a bit... depressed? Need to take a holiday?" Lyle asked him.

"You're not going to shoot me, Bobby," the older man told him, his own gun aimed on Lyle. "Put the gun down, and nobody gets hurt here today," the older man assured him.

Lyle smiled, the gun in his hand unwavering; he wouldn't be putting the gun down.

The older man took a step toward him, within arm's reach.

"Don't you touch him – or I'll tell them what you did!" Lyle snarled.

"What did I do, Bobby?" the older man asked calmly.

"_I will put you down!_" Lyle spat.

A frown came on to Jarod's face as he realised who the older man was; Bobby's father, Lyle Bowman.

"Why did you say 'him' just then, Bobby? Who is 'him'?" Lyle Bowman questioned.

"He's created a successive personality in order to screen the psychic streaming," another man said, approaching the four, whom Jarod recognised immediately as Randolph, a psychiatrist Sydney had mentioned meeting at several conferences over the years.

"Am I talking to Bobby?" Bowman. "Right now, am I talking to Bobby?"

Lyle made a face. "No!" He pointed the gun at Randolph, who'd made to move in his direction.

Randolph frowned, concerned. After a moment, his frown shifted. "Is that your gun?" he asked Bowman, without looking at him.

Bowman replied with a shrug.

"Have you shot anyone with it?" Randolph asked nervously, his eyes on Lyle.

"Get the gun off him, for Christ sakes!" Bowman hissed at him.

Randolph frowned, as though un-eager to do so.

"Are you going to let him get away too, Randolph? Mmm, like your daughter, and the three telepaths?"

"Stop... talking!" Lyle told them loudly.

"You'll shoot me? Is that your plan? If I don't stop, you'll shoot me?" Bowman pressed.

Randolph darted a glance to Bowman. "Lyle, you're upsetting him," he interjected.

They were quickly surrounded by armed personnel, and only then did Bowman's gaze turn to him, guns drawn and ready to fire.

"PUT THE FIREARM DOWN!" one of the armed men shouted, startling Jarod out of his thoughts of escape, a dozen or more ways this could go racing through his mind, brought suddenly to a halt. He frowned, wondering, for the first time, who these people were. Beside him, Ethan had gone stiff, determined to draw as little attention to himself as possible.

"PUT THE FIREARM DOWN!" the same man shouted.

"Oh, for goodness sakes, man, it's a gun. It's called a gun," Randolph complained.

"I REPEAT, PUT-"

Lyle dropped the gun to the floor.

Across the mall, Jarod spotted Miss Parker; pleasingly keeping a low profile with a mass of other bystanders who'd been asked to step back and begin evacuation of the building, though she was holding back, waiting on Broots and Sydney, perhaps, or merely anxious or curious.

"Are these your friends, hmm?" Bowman asked, turning his glance to Jarod and Ethan. "Jarod Cross, I must say, this is an unexpected but welcome surprise!"

Moments later, his people were on the floor, and a gun was pointed at his head at close range. "Step back!" Lyle hissed. "They're not my friends, I've never met them before, they're of no concern to me. You'll forget them, they're of no concern to you."

"Or what?" Bowman asked in a low voice.

"Or I end you." There was no warmth, no connection whatsoever in his voice, not even anger; it was merely a statement of fact, no more, no less.

"Now, Bobby-"

Lyle pointed another gun at Randolph; this gun, Jarod recognised, was his. "Don't be brave, Randolph; your daughter's a nice girl, you wouldn't want to leave her fatherless."

Randolph returned his gun to its holster.

"You made the right choice," Lyle told him. "Take the boy," he instructed Jarod, without looking back. "Go, Kyle!"

Jarod didn't wait for it to be said twice. Across the room, Miss Parker had headed out with the others. He took Ethan's arm and turned and moved swiftly toward the exit, praying that he would find it unguarded.

* * *

Outside, Jarod managed to reach his vehicle in time to avoid capture by the Center, and make a getaway; Ethan watching Miss Parker in the side mirror as she chased the car ineffectually in high heels. "You're not Kyle," Ethan said, once he could no longer see his sister in the mirror.

"I know," Jarod replied, his eyes on the road in front of him, alert to any dangers. He'd never seen anyone take ten armed men down like that, but he figured that answered his question as to why Lyle was a Tower operative, specialised in dealing with rival organisations.

* * *

"I think you'll find that he's with us, gentlemen," Raines said, walking over, and glancing at each of the other psychiatrists, before turning his attention to Lyle, then to the men lying unconscious on the floor. "Nicely done, son," he commented, to Lyle, then returned his attention to Bowman and Randolph, unconcerned by the gun Lyle was holding. "I trust your afternoon will be an enjoyable one, though I am afraid this is where we must part company. Good day, gentlemen."

Nodding to Lyle, he turned and walked away, followed, a couple of moments later, by the younger man.

* * *

"Hmm, Jarod eludes us again."

Miss Parker turned a glare on Raines, who merely glanced at her, before turning to the Sweepers she'd brought with her.

"I believe that makes one more enemy. We _are_ good." To Miss Parker he said, "Oh, by the way, they have a Healer. Very nice outfit!"

Miss Parker suppressed a scowl, under no illusion that he was referring after her manner of dress, and turned her attention to the dark car that had pulled up beside them.

* * *

"You might've warned us beforehand, sir," one of Bowman's men commented, now conscious.

"He's unfit to repair motor vehicles! He's a fucking epileptic, for Christ's sake!" Bowman ranted, furious.

The man nodded. "I see, sir. I think you'd better have your prescription re-evaluated, or have your optician fired, sir. Your spectacles may need work."

"I don't wear spectacles!" Bowman yelled.

A nod. "Very well, sir," the man replied, moving away to join his men once more, and shooting a short glance to the Healer, Desiree. "I believe that the man is in need of a strong pair of eyeglasses!"

* * *

**I know zilch about psychology, but I don't think there's really anything called a 'successive personality.' Written at roughly the same time as Crushed leaves. Thanks for reading.**


End file.
